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Egypt's slums and how beautiful they are.


As much as I am sure I would never tolerate living in slums, I find life there so beautiful. In its simplicity and roughness, I find my mind in contradiction.
The houses are all unfinished, made of red bricks and usually with no roofs. I wouldn’t refer to them as shelters; they don’t look like they are. Their walls are full of cracks and their roofs are full of gaps which are usually closed by some unwanted pieces of things that I couldn’t even recognize; most importantly, the gaps are slightly closed, enough to not let the rain water dive in although I am sure the cold air manages to get to the reckless people living below. I am amazed by how the people find “home” behind those cracked walls.
Crossed by the clothes hanged on ropes and realizing the repetitive technique that every house uses to hang their clothes, you’d be left with a smile on your face. The larger cloth is usually hanged at the last rope, and the size gets smaller as you reach the first rope where you find tiny socks which tell a lot about the members of the family.

‘Beautifully simple’, my eyes could tell.
‘Beautifully tough’, my heart disagrees.

The dirty narrow streets and lanes are amusing as their ambiences feel warmer than the houses themselves. It’s hard to walk there without stumbling into a corner of dirt. They are so muddy and but smell like hope. The splendid, colourful, paper-made decorations hanged between every two houses at each side of the narrow lanes are like a sign of peace and joy there. I could imagine the young children decorating them with their faces full of happiness like they are waiting to watch some magic.
I never knew what happy really means, but I am sure I have witnessed it there because I couldn’t find any other word to say about how the young children look there except ‘happy’.

You would come across some young children playing football or hide and seek with their tiny feet bare. Their thin, tired faces could tell how they aren’t well fed, yet their laughs’ echoes between the narrow building and the alligatored walls. They don’t bother if they step into a puddle of mud or dirt, all they know is fun and they didn’t seem to let anything stop them from having it. Their faces could tell how they felt so weightless and cheerful. Their smiles were warm and their eyes were full of colourful sparks and fire.
The people living in slums are simple and tender. Their faces don’t tell complaints, even though their hearts could be filled with worries, but they don’t let their faces reflect that, yet their wrinkles speak it all.
Slums know no luxury, but beauty. Slums know no shelter, but warmth. Slums know no wealth, but grace. Slums know no frowns, but smiles. Slums know no curse, but bless. Slums know no home, but “home”.
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